


Dearest

by LustMonster



Category: Stargate Atlantis, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Implied Non-Con, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Chronological, Sci-Fi, Wraith!Erik, free form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustMonster/pseuds/LustMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn't a grand plot, I just really wanted to write Erik as a wraith and Charles is his human mate who gets pregnant, how the bond works, etc. This is sort of a precursor for grandiose SGA-Fusion fics to come and experimenting with writing in non-chronological order and major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when my fandoms have a baby XD
> 
> Dedicated to my marvelous husband who's the one that drove me to write this and helped edit some bits and is always encouraging~

Everything was a blur of screaming and fire. The buzz of darts in the air and groups of people snatched up within the span of a blink. They blamed him for this, had shot their crossbows and tossed their knives before the wraith culled them.

 

Charles clutched his swollen abdomen and fell to his knees, falling on his side with a sob. He could feel the child moving in him, this wraith-human hybrid abomination that refused to be aborted, no matter what he did. He could feel it squirming, kicking, the imprint of its little feet visible on his flesh.

 

He wondered if the child would die if he did, or if it would survive by feeding off the last of his life force until it burst from his stomach and found its way back to the hive ship and its father. A sick sort of satisfaction twisted his busted lips up into a smile. If he died there, he won. Killed by the people who had been culled because of his presence.

 

 _Should’ve known_ , he thought bitterly. _Never should’ve come here_.

 

Escaping the hive ship had been no easy feat, but the child gave him enough wraith DNA to control the dart and fly through a stargate. His mind screamed for Athos, for his family, knew they would help him despite the damnable fetus making him grow weaker. But he had come out here, instead, weak and helpless, and these people had taken pity on him. Pity that was repaid in death.

 

It had been Erik, the wraith who had claimed him, the father, who had kept him alive all those months aboard the hive ship. His translucent teeth gleamed when he smiled and laid a hand on Charles’ chest, giving him life.

 

“There is much you do not know about wraith,” he had murmured that first night when Charles laid weak in a cocoon, already having been fed from by the queen. The wraith’s hands were large, and dwarfed the marks left from the initial feeding, but when it pulled away, he felt stronger than he had in years.

 

The wraith called himself Erik—or rather, insisted the closest approximation to his name in the Athosian’s tongue was “Erik”—, told Charles they were mated.

 

Erik was as kind as a wraith could be, but he did not trust him. Especially knowing that their coupling was for some sort of experiment one called “Hank” was conducting. Hank hypothesized that perhaps if they could breed wraith and humans, they could produce a hybrid which, when fed upon, would make the wraith even stronger, provide a greater meal. Then, if this hybrid was mated with other humans, perhaps the end yield would be a more nourishing food supply.

 

The child could not help its wraith tendencies and drew life from him from within. It was Erik whose large hands kept him alive. Without him, that life waned. Charles barely recognized the hollow-eyed, gaunt creature he saw in reflections anymore. If only he could have reached Athos, they would help him.

 

They could have gotten the tracker and the child out, thrown them through the stargate, back to Erik, and he could have gotten back to life as it had been. They could have hidden Charles come the next culling so he could not be taken again. But he would die here, instead. _They_ would die here—or so he hoped. Charles found it in himself to chuckle, struggling to keep his eyes open, watch the village burn in the distance.

 

“Why do I put up with you?” Something twisted deep within at the sound of that voice and the baby began kicking furiously. He was rolled onto his back and there was a hand on his chest.

 

The sensation of skin knitting itself together never failed to make him squirm, but Erik kept him pinned. “You’ve caused me quite a lot of trouble, Charles,” his lover growled, his face coming into focus.

 

Erik loomed over him, his features as severe as ever, tattoo standing out on his pale face. His teeth were bared and his abnormally dark hair was starting to fall out of its ponytail. For a wraith, he was handsome, his eyes an attractive pale blue, green or gray depending on the day, and his body was cared for. But he was still a wraith, and Charles had been taught to fear all that he was. Erik pushed his lank hair back and tutted, stroking one talon-edged finger down his cheek. He could feel Erik in his head, hated that the pregnancy made him open to wraith telepathy, tried to push him out.

 

“You’ll be confined to our quarters for your foolishness.” Erik slid his arms beneath him and began carrying the human toward the stargate. “I would say I won’t tell Hank what you’ve tried to do, but he’ll figure it out on his own.” The wraith’s voice was a croon that sent icy needles down Charles’ spine.

 

“I hate you.”

 

“Then I’ve moved up in your regard.” Erik laughed his cruel, beastly laugh and gave Charles’ brow a mocking kiss.

 

 

~*-*~

 

Charles paced the length of his and Erik’s rooms, rubbing his belly like a nervous tic. He could feel the gentle buzz of the hive’s telepathic network against his mind, and dared dip into it, searching for the bright point that was Erik. Generally, it was no work at all to find his mate if he simply concentrated, and he could always feel him without trying, their lives intertwined. But there was nothing, and all he could feel from Erik was that heavy nothingness, different from when the wraith slept.

 

The doors slid open and Charles turned, bowing his head before the hive queen. Emma waved her guard away and stood before him, holding her hands out to his. He no longer hesitated when touching the others, accepting them, proud of himself for not flinching when her talons dug into his hand.

 

“What’s wrong?” He searched her impassive face for some hint, nibbling on his lower lip nervously as the silence stretched.

 

Finally, she sighed and pressed her right hand above his heart, sliding it down to rest on the curve of his abdomen. She assessed the baby in silence, and he held his breath, feeling it shift, then pause, as if aware the queen was evaluating it.

 

“Erik has been captured.”

 

“ _What_!?”

 

“The humans whose folly awoke the hive ships have taken him captive.”

 

“Why would they do that? Why not simply kill him?”

 

“We wondered the same thing.” She removed her hand from his stomach and ran her fingers through Charles’ gray-streaked chestnut locks. “What do you feel?”

 

“Nothing. Just . . . darkness. Like a heavy curtain. He’s unconscious, I believe.”

 

“Inform me when he awakens.”

 

“I shall.”

 

The wraith were not ones for honorifics or grand displays of fealty, it was simply expected that they would be given the respect their status warranted. They valued strength and loyalty more than showy vows and oaths, more than demonstrative actions that humans were fond of.

 

Emma nodded once before sweeping from his chambers, speaking harshly to the others in the wraith tongue.

 

~*-*~

 

It was dim and silent in the room. The walls pulsed with a gentle light, like gazing at the exterior of a tent with a fire burning within. From the quick glance Charles had gotten before the door hissed shut behind him, it was living quarters of some sort. There was a bed, firm and longer than any he’d encountered. In one of the walls there was a darkness, a seam he had not expected. It refused to open when he slid his fingers along it, attempted to pry it open, or at least discover how the mechanism worked.

 

There was something he thought was a chair in the corner, but no other furnishings. He ought to have expected as much from the wraith, not sure what he had anticipated. When the tall, dark haired one pulled him from the cocoon, he had expected to die, not be rejuvenated before two of the others dragged him away.

 

Light flooded the room as the doors open, the walls seeming to respond to this new, wraith presence, brightening. Charles backed into the farthest corner he could, hands bracing against the walls.

 

It was the wraith from earlier, the one who had called himself “Erik.”

 

The wraith—it could only be “the wraith,” not Erik. Wraith didn’t get that distinction, it made them seem too . . . relatable, thinking they could have names meant they could have families and be sympathized with—flicked its gaze to Charles and smiled with all of its near-transparent teeth showing. They stared at one another for almost too long before either made a move.

 

It stepped forward, and Charles realized his idiocy, trapped in this corner like a frightened animal. His muscles tensed, and he thought of Raven, heard her voice in his mind, whispering, _“fight back, fight back.”_ If he would die, it would be fighting, not frozen in fear of the wraith.

 

Once it was within his reach, Charles lashed out, but his fist connected with a lock of dark hair instead of flesh or bone. Long, talon-tipped fingers wrapped around his wrist and there was an amused little chuckle, which grew louder as the wraith drew closer. The hand not constricting Charles’ raised and the tip of a claw stroked down his cheek, biting into the flesh and leaving a thin cut in its wake. It stared down at him, teeth bared, eyes impassive. The shadows that dominated much of the wraith’s face made it far more sinister than it had been before.

 

“I’ve been gifted a spirited mate,” he said softly, capturing the human’s other wrist and holding both arms against the wall. It leaned closer, and Charles got the distinct feeling he was being smelled.

 

“I’m not your _mate_ ,” came out before he could stop it, and the wraith paused, laughed again. Its head was near his shoulder as it glanced up from beneath the veil of hair that had obscured its severe face.

 

“But you are. You have our blood. You are mine.”

 

Without warning, Charles was picked up by his forearms and carried the short distance to the bed, tossed on it without any to-do. He laid there in stunned silence for a long moment, registering the sound of clothing rustling, but not reacting to it until he felt hands at the hem of his trousers.

 

“What are you—?” ‘ _doing_ ’died before it could live as he was greeted with the sight of the wraith: unabashedly naked, staring coolly back at him.

 

“Our child will be important.”

 

Charles stared, blankly, his hands not leaving their vice on the wraith’s. “I’m . . . I can’t carry a child!” It grinned— _Erik_ ,a small voice whispered, _he looks like an Erik with that face on_ —and shook his head. “There is much you do not know about wraith, Athosian.” He moved Charles’ hands and stripped him of his tattered clothes as if there had been no physical nor verbal protest.

 

The words repeated over in Charles’ head like a prayer. _Our child will be important._

_Our child_

**_Our child_ **

 

~*-*~

 

 _“I am your death. That is all you need to know.”_ The words spoken at the peak of his strength now felt hollow as he weakened. Erik sat in the middle of his prison, eyes closed, all too aware of the human lives that surrounded him, of the bars imbued with some sort of force field holding him in.

 

His body ached for sustenance, arms for Charles to hold, mind for some sort of communication with the others. He missed the bold little creature—“ _Athosian_ ,” Charles would have insisted, “I’m _Athosian_ ”—he had taken as a mate, the softness of his skin and blueness of his eyes, he even ached for his stubbornness. He would have taken the unending worry over the human when he had run over this.

 

Over and over he imagined ways to escape. Once he drained one, he would be strong enough to fight off the rest, feeding as he went and escaping by the stargate. He would find his hive and they would come back to destroy Atlantis, and he would witness the birth of his son, make more children with Charles. Charles, who would surely cry to see him, because humans were prone to such things, men and women alike. And Charles was especially taken to crying. It was adorably vulnerable, made Erik laugh just to think about it, the way the human’s face reddened and scrunched up, mouth gaping open to breathe raggedly before the first wail was emitted. Charles had, like a child, cried the first few weeks whenever Erik was near, he wept when they coupled, when he was happy or angry.

 

“It’s these bloody hormones,” he’d defended after bursting into sobs as he ate an Athosian delicacy, wiping his watery eyes as the wraith chuckled.

 

He would have given anything to see Charles again, if only one last time.

 

He knew he would die soon, and Charles would follow. It was the way of mating. Pairs lived and died together, and it would be the same for them though Charles was human.

 

Footsteps broke Erik’s concentration and he opened his eyes to look at Major Howlett, who was smirking at him.

 

“We’re gonna let you eat.”

 

~*-*~

 

Still-smoking huts were all that was left of the recently culled village. Some yet burned on the horizon, filling the air with the acrid scent of charred bodies and wood-smoke. It was quiet, the streets empty, the air still, as if the dead world was holding its breath.

 

Erik was silent as he walked behind Charles, unconcerned about the state of the place, simply for his mate’s safety, the safety of the child. Sensors promised all intelligent life had been snuffed out, but his instincts to protect made him leery of this place.

 

He could feel Charles’ mind buzzing at the core of his own, wrapped in layers of Erik’s ardor and detestation, ripe only for his sampling. The human was troubled by the sight of this place, less so than the last time—though the last time, it was his presence which led to this destruction—but this ruined town made his heart heavy with empathetic sorrow. Charles walked with a hand on his round belly, waddled more like, but refused Erik’s help, growing fiercer, more adamant, by the day.

 

“We were taught,” the human spoke suddenly, and Erik snapped to attention, “that the culling served to regulate human population, as our hunting did for animals. But this has left nothing behind.” Accusatory blue eyes turned toward him, and Erik tensed, always waiting for the feral creature he’d initially bedded to return in these moments despite the loving, saccharine words and displays his human favored in his brighter moods.

 

“All of the hives have awoken, Charles. Skimming off the top isn’t working anymore.”

 

“So they all must die.”

 

“They’re food.”

 

“So was I.” White fire burned in Charles’ eyes and he stopped walking to stare at Erik coldly. “How am I different from any of these people?”

 

“I told you: you have our blood. And you are mine.”

 

The Athosian only barely hesitated when Erik kissed him. Easier than with any of the others in the telepathic network, he could feel the fabric of Charles’ thoughts without effort, feeling the ambivalence that defined their relationship rearing to the forefront of his mind. Natural chemistry and a slow breakdown had finally brought Charles willingly to Erik, but there were years of deeply ingrained fear and loathing to contend with. Contrariwise, Erik felt the devotion, the “love” for Charles tempered by thousands years spent viewing humans and a food source and nothing else.

 

In turns, each loved and despised the other with a passionate heat that made the time of their child’s conception feel overdue. All that they were was built upon a dichotomy of emotion and instinct which warred constantly, and there were times when Erik pressed his hand on the human’s chest and reflexively began to feed before catching himself and shifting back to providing.

 

“Am I to watch this the rest of my years, then?” Charles was asking, voice soft as the sound of burning in the distance. “Watching this destruction, this massacring of my own people while I do nothing? Watch as my _child_ becomes . . .” the word _‘monster’_ was never said aloud, but Erik heard it just as clearly. He turned his back to Charles, in the direction of the waiting dart, considered leaving the human to ponder—predispositions be damned—and simply provide a timeframe by which to abide. Instead, the wraith sighed. He rotated and bowed his head to kiss Charles’ sweat-coated forehead and murmur,

 

“Yes.”

~*-*~

 

Days and nights passed without Charles’ knowledge. As Erik grew weaker, so did he, and rarely left his bed. Ronon was barely crawling, and he could only distantly appreciate it. His son was beautiful and active. His hair was soft and downy, white as most of the wraith’s tended to be, and his eyes were the same blue as Charles’ but had the look as his father’s.

 

He had the hands of wraith but ate human food—as all wraith children apparently did—and his manner was something all his own. By turns, he was sweet and harsh, and none could predict how he would grow up.

 

Charles regretted that he would not be there to see it.

 

The doors slid open and he cracked an eye, smiling at the sight of the infant bouncing impatiently in Hank’s arms. The older wraith set Ronon on Charles’ chest and chuckled when the boy smacked the human gently.

 

“Hello to you too.” He sat up with some effort, shifting Ronon into his lap and holding the boy up by his little hands.

 

“He’s strong,” Hank stated, and Charles glanced up, then back down, nodding.

 

“Like his father.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I wish Erik could have met him.”

 

The wraith were not a race to coddle, and Hank kept to this. He didn’t try to reassure him that Erik would be fine, that he would come back to them. He knew just as well as the others that both Charles and Erik’s days were numbered.

 

“Don’t let him forget,” Charles pleaded, combing his fingers through Ronon’s hair. “Don’t let him forget me, or that he’s human, too.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“I want your word, Hank.”

 

“You have my word, Charles. So long as I live, I won’t allow him to forget.”

 

“Good. Show him . . . the good memories. With Erik. He must know his father didn’t want to be taken from him.”

 

“I will.” He could feel Hank’s confusion. The wraith didn’t understand such sentimentality, even one such as Hank, who had something of a softness to him. But his word was all that mattered, not his understanding.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Charles smiled and kissed Ronon’s brow, holding the child close until he began to whine and squirm. “I love you, my little one.”

 

Ronon babbled nonsense and pressed a sloppy kiss to Charles’ cheek.

 

Pain lanced through his body and Charles gasped, tightening his hold on Ronon, losing himself in the pain until the boy wailed. Before he could stop the wraith, Hank had taken his son, leaving Charles to writhe in pain. He could feel Erik, like the wall between them had been ripped away, and all of his mate’s thoughts flooded his consciousness.

 

Everything was _pain_ and _anger_ and _betrayal_. The humans had poisoned him somehow. They’d let him feed, but it was killing him. Killing _them_.

 

Erik couldn’t feel him, too lost in the throes of death, and soon enough Charles lost all sense of anything but the poison in him. The poison was eating him from the inside, such an irony for a wraith, for those who fed on others. He dreamt of home, the hive ship off in space, of the culling, the scent of fear in the air, the taste as the humans shrieked and tried to fight.

 

There was no Charles and no Erik, only a single mind twisting and thrashing into welcome death. Death that was a warm blackness and oblivion that swallowed them whole.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I honestly have zero clue if wraith mate and if they did that it works like this, so if anyone plans to watch SGA in the future after reading this, don't be surprised if this is utterly wrong. This is my personal headcanon/pseudo-science for the sake of making this fic work.


End file.
